


There are no sick days

by morganaa4



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, a bit of angst, reference to past abuse, some exy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganaa4/pseuds/morganaa4
Summary: "Neil knows something is wrong before he even opens his eyes."Neil is so used to pushing forward that he forgets that he is safe and cared for.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

Neil knows something is wrong before he even opens his eyes. He is in his bunk, wrapped in his blanket and light has yet to make an entrance across the small space between the curtains. He keeps his eyes closed yet the pain is there, just behind his eyelids, the sensitive skin throbbing, the inside of his head thumping to the rhythm of his heart, fast and hard against his skull. He feels warm, but shivers wrack his body. The covers and his pyjamas feel soaked through with his sweat. Neil groans internally. It has been a while. He hasn’t had the time to be sick in the last year, in the last ten years even. 

They are two months into the season, the weather has been fluctuating between warm spells leaving the team sticky and heavy and cold days necessitating hot chocolates and shirt sleeves long enough to cover knuckles red from the icy wind. It is a miracle no one has caught anything. Not so much now, Neil thinks as he braves the colder temperature of the room by lifting the top half of his body from the fox print blanket he has taken a liking to the last few weeks. It is a gift from the girls, for no reason except that the small fox design had apparently reminded them of Neil. 

As he sits on the edge of his bunk, his sinuses clear and the headache dissipates slightly. A sigh of relief escapes him, quiet and gentle enough to not stop the soft snores across the room coming from his giant of a team mate. Slowly, he climbs down from his bed, making sure to not jostle the bunk bed so as not to push his other dwarf of a team mate to groan profanities his way. He manages quite successfully, the clock by his desk reads 5:00 and he grabs the clothes prepared the night before from the top of his desk and carefully heads to the bathroom, only stubbing his toe once against the door frame to the other room. 

Once inside, Neil takes his time in analysing the damage. His head feels clouded, but some of the pain has definitely lessened. His muscles feel heavy and rolling his shoulders feels like a chore. Still, Neil feels relieved, he will simply have to sneak some advil in his morning routine. His mother’s voice is faint in the back of his mind but he can still hear the warning, the threat. There is no time for weakness. With one last look, a rub of his temples and a forceful jerk of his shoulders, Neil steps into the shower. The water is scalding, hitting his tense muscles, loosening the threads of worry ever so slightly. He leans his forehead into the slick tiles that have blessfully yet to warm. A sigh escapes him again, this time more content, relief slackening his feature as he recalls the stats of the players against whom they will be fighting in two days. 

Practice is rough, not so different from any other day. The freshmen are mouthy and rude, the original foxes more in control, patient. The new foxes have not learned to push their frustration into the game like the older generation and it shows in the imprecise plays and slow footwork. Dan corrects them, Neil seconding her, adding his own advice that is often scorned at while being tried later in the day. Neil does not bother shaking his head in exasperation anymore. They are foxes, it would be contrary to their reputation if they bowed their heads and listened instead of fighting back.   
Neil is on the court, his gear sticky, more so than usual, thick with sweat. His forehead glistens faster than any other day and Neil uses more time wiping at his forehead, drying the back of his neck with the top of his shirt even though the armor makes it near impossible. The pounding in his head has increased, he knows, but if years on the run have taught him one thing, it is to keep going, no matter what. The sharp tongue of his mother hisses in his ears, pulls at his scalp, fingers yanking the strands. He ignores the slight dsicomfort and concentrates on the voice. 

After his morning shower, Neil had grabbed two cups from the cupboard and had prepared a pot. While the coffee machine did its job, he had swallowed an advil dry and had stretched the kinks in his arms and legs as he waited. A ruffled blond head had appeared by his side as he was dropping a third spoonful of sugar and the new arrival, pressing his shoulder against Neil’s, had grabbed the cup and blown a soft breath across the top before sipping the warm concoction. Andrew only lifted his heavy hooded eyes once half of the liquid was consumed. Neil smiled, the soft lips turned upwards in gleeful amusement, often reserved for Andrew. 

“Hi,” he said, like he did every morning. Like every morning, Andrew only grunted in acknowledgement before breathing a soundless “yes or no” which Neil answered with a whispered yes, tilting his head towards Andrew in the process. Andrews lips were soft, possibly surprising to others but not to Neil. The kiss was quick, a peck, a caress, it was routine and always made Neil’s heart rate pick up. He continued to smile against his friend’s lips. Andrew took a step back, drained his cup. He squeezed the back of Neil’s neck, straying there longer than usual before disappearing into the bathroom. They had left not long after that, dragging a bleary eyed Kevin woken once again only by a glass of water thrown in his bunk.

Now, practice is coming to an end. Neil is in possession of the ball, his feet light as he nimbles his way across the court. Determination pushes his brows together, his shoulder hunched ready for an impact. His legs push him towards the goal. There, Andrew stands as tall as he can, knees bent slightly, unnoticeable to the untrained eyes. Neil knows his shot will not go in, his shots today lack force somehow. Rationally, the sluggishness of his muscles and the throbbing behind his eyes are to blame. Irrationally, Neil blames his shoddy footwork, his lack of concentration, his distraction in the form of late nights on the roof with a cigarette in his hands, nights in front of the TV with Matt and shopping trips with Allison. He nears the goal, can see the amber of Andrew’s eyes, the gold strands sticking to his temples. He takes the shot just as one of the freshmen backliners rams into his side. Neil hits the ground, hard, the shot easily batted away by the goalie. It is not the worst hit he has dealt with during training but he will bruise and his head pounds harder, the hit resonating in his helmet. Nausea tries to break the surface but Neil pushes it down, ignores it as he gets to his feet, a slight twinge in his hip. Wimack has called an end to practice, Matt is by his side, soon accompanied by Dan.

“You okay there?” Dan questions. Neil stops himself before “I’m fine” leaves his mouth, catching Kevin’s eyes by Andrew’s side. 

“I’ve been hit worse, I’ll make sure to ice it if it’s necessary”, he replies, smiling at his friends. Matt gives a gentle shake of his curls. The act is kind but the movement brings pain to his temples that he hides behind a grin at Matt’s playful banter. As the team reaches the stands, Abby is ready with her med kit. She makes her way through the team, applying pressure to certain sore muscles and distributing creams, pills and advice on the way. She makes it to Neil’s side at last, checking his side and knee. 

“Any pain,” she asks while doing the routine checkup after a fall. Neil hesitates, thinking of his other hidden aches before responding.

“Yeah, do you have something for that? Incase, you know,” he gestures with his hands, thinking of the game on thursday and the days of practice until then.

Abby nods as she rummages inside her bag, pulling a box of painkillers stronger than the average advil. Neil internally relaxes and reaches for it. Andrew, who has long since added himself by his side, watches the exchange with his usual bored expression. 

“Only one after every meal, no more. If you still have strong pain, you tell me,” her tone firm. “And no straining yourself during practice if you feel too much pain,” she insists. 

Neil nods and follows the rest of the team. The shower is enough to loosen some of the tension and the noise around him lessens the buzzing in his ears and the voice chastising him for being weak, pressing him to keep going. 

The first cough catches him by surprise as he sits in his desk chair, finishing up his math assignment due the next morning. His throat twitches, a tickle forces him to swallow and the act brings discomfort that, by reflex, he relieves with a cough. As soon as the noise escapes him, his whole body freezes, his hand tightens his hold on his pen and his eyes fly around the room to his friend. Andrew is sitting on his desk, close enough to the open window to blow the smoke of his cigarette outside. The man is already watching Neil, his hand hanging from his bent knee, cigarette loose in his fingers. They stare at each other, Neil holds is gaze, not moving an inch. His throat stings, a cough bubbling up but he holds it, finding relief by scratching the inside with a swallow. Andrew stubs his cigarette, only one breath gone from it and closes the window. His gaze still holds Neil’s. The younger man finally looks away, staring at the equations across his desk but not really seeing them. The sensation in his throat still hangs as a threat, the memory of his mother’s hand across his face, the sting added to the cold as she forces her hand against his mouth to keep the noise at bay, to keep their trail from being picked up by silly, weak noises like those of a mere cough. Neil shakes the memory and gets back to his work. 

The next two days pass in a blur. Time is spent preparing for the game, at the court and in front of pages of the rival team’s stats or watching previous games to come up with strategies. Neil pushes through it all, going to class is still a burden but the quiet of lectures is a welcome change on his worsening headache and he enjoys the freedom from his teammates his classes give him, allowing him a cough here and there to soothe the itch in his throat. The game is an away game and they gather in front of the bus five minutes before takeoff. Andrew takes the lead and seats in his usual place at the back of the bus. Neil follows, although he sometimes joins his friends in the front to talk game plans. Today, he takes his place by Andrew’s side, closing his eyes as soon as his shoulders hit the back of the seat. He feels exhaustion crawling through his body, pain pulses behind his eyes like it has for the last few days, the soreness of his throat only adding to the discomfort. The chills have been easier to hide with the worsening weather, heavier clothing have become necessary. With it all is the voice of Mary Hatford, always lingering in the back of his mind, phantom fingers pushing him on. He is grateful. 

Movement by his side makes Neil crack an eyelid open. Andrew is watching him. They have not had time alone this week, Andrew has not been to the roof and so Neil has had no reason to go there. Neil smiles at him, leaning his shoulder closer, feeling warmth. Andrew shifts and lifts his leg, which end up across Neil’s laps. Andrew’s gaze is questioning and Neil answers with a slight nod, closing his eyes and settling in for the next few hours on the road.

Getting of the bus is hard, putting on his gear is harder. The noise of his teammates grate against his skull, his movements feel more sluggish than he is used to. When the buzzer sounds the start of the game, Neil pushes through and within minutes the game is a cacophony of hits and scuffles. His feet beat the court floor, his mark clings to his side, tentalises him with words and snarky remarks. Neil ignores it all, keeps his head low and his eyes on the ball flying across the court. By halftime, the score is in the foxes favour. By the end of the game, Neil is shaking and out of breath, sweat pooling in every nook and cranny of his skin, his body thrumming with pain. The discomfort is not the usual after game ails. However, the game has been won and Neil grins and laughs, surrounded by his team. Celebration is in order and the foxes do just that once they are home. 

The basement is tightly pact with celebrating college students. The vixens are scattered across the small space, mixing with the foxes. Neil is by Matt’s side, Kevin went to fetch the drinks. The conversation is animated, Matt’s voice loud enough to beat against the music. Neil feels the pounding of the bass against his skull, each word shouted in his ears. The heat is making him sweat, too many bodies rub against him on their way to the dance floor or the drink tables. Andrew, like usual, is nowhere to be seen. Neil sighs and lifts himself from the wall he was leaning against. His t-shirt clings to him. He starts to lift on his toes to tell Matt he’s leaving when blond hair appears by his side. Neil locks eyes with his friend. A hand reaches his, fingers searching his own and before he can think about what is happening, Andrew grasps his hand tightly and drags him to the exit, elbowing anyone on the way to the doors. Neil is surprised, the hand is calloused from exy, the grip tight yet the hold is painless. Andrew has never held his hand this way, especially not with an audience. Once they have reached the stairs, Neil’s hand is not let go. A thumb rubs gently against his scarred knuckles as the elevator doors shut and Andrew presses the button to their dorm floor. They reach their rooms quickly, Neil unsteady on his feet from fatigue. Disappointment makes itself at home when they pass the stairs leading to the roof, their habitual after game ritual ignored for tonight. 

The dorms are empty, silence soothes the permanent frown on Neil’s face. Andrew has already let go of his hand and headed for the shower, Neil follows. The door to the bathroom is opened, an invitation and Neil enters, closing and locking the door behind him. Andrew is brushing his teeth, his reflection following Neil’s movements. The other man sits on the closed toilet seat. He can feel the unnatural heat of his body, the constant goosebumps that traverse his skin. The pounding of his head has become a permanent resident in the last few days. He figures Andrew has noticed, chose not to say anything. He is good like that, letting Neil figure things on his own. Andrew searching him out tonight indicates that a limit has been breached. 

A shadow across his laps makes Neil look up and smile at the other man standing close yet not close enough to brush against his knees. 

“Yes or no?” Andrew says, a hand reaching the burnt cheek. Neil nods, then answers verbally. The hand presses against his jaw, Neil leans into it as his eyes close. Pain flares up at the side as Andrew pinches the underside of his jaw, pinky brushing against forgotten stubble.

“Idiot,” is all he says before leaning for a forehead kiss. The motion is cool against his heated skin and rare enough that he questions his imagination. The door is left open as Andrew heads to their room, any prospects of a shower forgotten. Neil hurries along, changing in the dark before heading for his bunk. Before he reaches the small ladder, however, Andrew reaches for him, raising an eyebrow towards the space he has left specifically for Neil. They don’t often sleep together in the dorms, the bed is too narrow, the noises are to frequent. There is no locked doors and knives are too easy to access. Neil stops but does not place himself by his friend’s side. He waits, like Andrew would wait to confirm, a test of boundaries.

“It’s a yes, idiot. Come before I decide to push you off”, he says before he closes his eyes and buries his hand under his pillow. Neil does as he is told, careful not to brush against Andrew, to keep his distance, only reaching the sleeve of his friend’s t-shirt by the tip of his finger and curling them around the soft fabric. His face turns to the scent of the bedsheets, his head cushioned softly on a square of pillow. The throbbing feels distant like this, the voice transformed into a whisper, a wisp of wind against his ears, easy to tune out. He can rest.


	2. Chapter 2

This time when Neil wakes up, he knows that fighting will do him no good. The battering of his skull has quadrupled, his ears are ringing and the obvious fever brings with it nausea. The heat from Andrew is too much as he pushes against his legs entangled in the sheet and scrambles out of the bed as quickly as he can without alerting his partner. It is futile, Andrew jerks awake at the sudden motion, Neil is pushed further away and lands on the floor with a thump and a groan. 

Everything hurts and Neil groans softly as the strident ringing in his ears increases. His body is trembling, the sweat freezing against his burning skin. He keeps his eyes closed and stills against the floor, trying to bring his body to move more than from shivers. A hand places itself on his face, first his cheek, then his forehead. The icy palm is a welcome relief and Neil relaxes against it. The sensation is familiar, he knows Andrew’s worn hands more than his own. 

“Idiot,” is said once again. Neil’s lips twitch upwards, so used to the nickname, forgetting for a second the position in which he has found himself. He feels like death warmed over. 

“I guess my morning run will have to be postponed,” he says. His voice is rough and cracks by the end of the sentence. A flick to his forehead forces his eyes to open. Andrew is watching him, he is always watching him, expression blank and eyelids heavy with sleep. His hand reaches for Neil’s forearm and pulls him to his feet. The move is fast and Neil’s head does not agree. A arm wounds itself around his waist, another grabs his shoulder before he says hello to the floor a second time. 

Neil always feels safe with Andrew. For one, he is stronger than him. Neil easily outruns anyone on the team but when it comes to muscle strength, he is farther behind than most of his teammates. Andrew’s body is built to protect. His shoulders wide and ready against the goal to keep anyone out, his arms strong enough to hold the weight of the heavier goalie racket. Andrew’s body against Neil on the roof protects him from the cold, his hands apply pressure to Neil’s body as they map the scars and keep away the pain through pleasure. Right now his hold is light yet comforting as Neil continues to shiver through the fievre, waves of cold and warmth hitting his body every few seconds. Without a word, Andrew leads him to the bathroom, placing Neil on the closed toilet seat and leaving the room. He returns shortly after with a glass of water and pills which he hands to Neil who quickly swallows all of it before slumping against the side wall. Andrew places the glass by the sink before helping Neil out of his soaked garments, pulling the t-shirt over his bed hair and placing Neil’s hands on his shoulders as he gets rid of his sweatpants. It takes time but eventually, Neil is naked, his teeth chattering and his arms coming around to hug his stomach. While he waits, Andrew turns the water on, making sure the water is tepid enough to allow Neil some relief without worsening his state. He helps Neil in and the lukewarm water on his skin brings immediate relief. He sags against the tiles, Andrew gripping his arm on the side to make sure he does not trip or slip and crack his head. He slides gently to the tiled floor with Andrew’s help and sits under the spray, closing his eyes. 

The voice of his dead mother returns. He is naked, with company and weak. He should run, he has to run. The voice is shrill and insisting, he can feel the memory of her hand against his cheeks. One hit, two hits. And then there is the grabbing, the pulling, an iron grip that grabs a handful of hair, his scalp his raw-.

A hand his against the back of his neck, heavy and tight but not painful and Neil instantly leans into it. The water is turned off and Neil is bundled into a towel, another placed on his hair. It reminds him of after Baltimore, the gentleness so contrerary yet expected as Andrew takes care of him. His hair is ruffled dry, his body tapped dry to make sure the cold is kept at bay and clean clothes are pushed into his waiting arms. He dresses slowly and by the time he heads back to their room, the sheets have been changed and a glass of water has been placed on the nightstand. 

Once again, Neil reaches for the ladder, once again Andrew objects.

“Don’t be stupid,” he responds, adjusting the pillows and the covers. Neil hesitates, he has already awoken his friend in the middle of the night. When he looks again, Andrew is waiting, impatiently if his heavy sighs are anything to go by.

“I have to make sure you don’t die on me during the night. With your stupidity, the probability is high.” He places himself against the wall and closes his eyes as soon as Neil is by his side and reaching for the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

Morning comes quickly and Andrew threatens Neil from getting up for practice. The young man tries to fight back but the action is futile and he quickly falls back asleep to the noise of his teammates getting ready without him. The day passes in a blur, glasses are replaced by his side, pills are added and gentle hands are pressed against his forehead. By nightfall, the pain in his head has lessened and, opening his eyes, he comes faced to face with a bowl of soup and some crackers which he quickly swallows. The older foxes come in one by one, chastising and worrying around him. Andrew is always near. They comment on the day, check that he has everything before leaving him to rest. He does just that, knowing he will not let himself be bullied to stay in bed the next day. He closes his eyes, Andrew already by his side and this time the only voices he hears are those of his teammates, of Andrew and soft lips against his skins and shoulder squeezes and gentle hands against his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope reading this little fic was enjoyable, and I wish you all a very good day ( or night)!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first part!


End file.
